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GIFT   OF 


THE  VAIL  OF  MIST 


BY 
MM.  M.  McNAM  A* 


The  book  entitled  "The  Vail  of  M 
"y   ^3.    M.    M«.Namar,     is    a    sin 
Poem  paying  high    tri,Hlte  t()   thp    ^ 

Jerfi.1  natural  u,,,,tl,  an,]  beauty  of   tl 
state  of  Oregon.     It  is  dedicated   to   th, 
of  that  state,    and    will    be   fur 
**»  iwatatioa,    at  reasonable 
per  cent-  above   coat'of  producing. 

The  regular  edition  of  "The  Vail  of 
Mist,"  of  which   this   is   a   .Manuscript 
copy,     will      be    carefully   revised   and 
printed    on   Duchess   B»k   paper,  and 
neatly  bound  with  heavy  book    binding 
paper    artistically  lith^raphed. 

The  p;.em  is  copyrighted  by.  Mrs  M. 
McNamar  and  puplished  by 

MCNAMARS,  PUBLISHERS, 
COTTONWOOD,  CAUF. 

"Just  Muse,"     -'Down     Deep      in    the 
Woods,"      "Parodic,"     and        "Other 
Poems"   over  sixty  «U«ifi,j   selection., 
by  Mrs.   M.   Mc.Va.nar  in  one     volumn. 
cloth  bound,  price  II. 00. 


THE  VAIL  OF  MIST 

BY 

MRS.    M.    McNAMAR 

AUTHORESS  OF 

'Just  Mu»e,"     "Down    Deep  In 
The  Woods"  and    'l Other 
Poems." 


DEDICATED      TO 

THE  SCHOOLS  OF  OREGON 


McMAMARS,  PUBLISHERS 
COTTON  WOOD,  CALIF. 

(Copyright  1919) 


bin 


SYNOPSIS 


After  "Just  Muse"  first  appeared  in 
book  form,  a  reader  from  the  less  sunny 
clime  of  the  great  northwest  writes  attrib 
uting  poetical  inclination  to  the  "won 
derful  days  and  the  wonderful  nights  of 
beautiful  Sunshine  Valley,"  (California) 
and  insinuates  that  the  "misty  climate" 
of  the  northern  state  gives  less  pleasant 
surroundings  and  leads  to  less  poetical 
thoughts.  Therefore  THE  VAIL  OF  MIST 
has  been  written  with  the  Webfoot  State 
as  the  setting  and  some  of  its  "misty" 
beauty  protrayed  therein. 

To  write  the  poem,  a  special  study  was 
made  of  the  flora  of  Oregon  and  only 
species  chosen  that  appear  within  its 
borders 

Time  is  pictured  in  the  heavier  vegeta 
tion.  while  "Timid  Smile"  might  be  inter 
preted  as  meaning:  a  person,  absolute 
happiness  or  "just  a  smile"  according  to 
the  readers  fancy. 


Happineta  in  all  her  beauty, 
In  her  faith  and  tryst  to  duty, 
In  youth,  in  age  or  in  her  prime, 
Stands  subject  to  the  call  of  time. 


THE  VAIL  OF  MIST 


PRELUDE 

Ye  Oregon  —  wonderland  of  hill! 
What  good  spirit  came  unto  thee 
In  that  age  remote  and  still 
And  laid  the  hand  of  luxury 
Upon  thy  brow?    Held  back  no  gift; 
Visited  thee  with  showers  of  weatlh, 
Endowed  thee  as  none  other 
Hath  been  endowed,  with  verdure 
Clad,  as  none  other  hath  been  clad. 
Oregon— wonderland  of  bloom! 
Whence  cometh  all  that  growth? 
Why  select  thee  as  the  favored 
Child,  and  heap  magnificence 
Upon  thee  in  that  day. of  days 
In  ancient  days,  and  reserved  it 
For  a  generation  yet  unborn? 
Oregon —  land  of  mighty  trees! 
With  bearded  faces  all,  and  written 
Father  Time's  own  countenance 


Upon  their  cracked  bark,  and 
Hoary  too,  they  *  look  toward  north 
As  if  to  scorn  the  rays  of  Sol, 
And  take  delight  in  shadows  cast. 
They  are  not  shorn  by  winds,   nor 
Cometh  frost  or  beating  elements 
To  take  a  toll;  but  gentle  rains 
And  MISTS  preserves  them  on  for  aye. 
Oregon,  know  ye  where  dwells 
Those  good  fairies  who  doth  possess 
The  secret  of  thy  blessed  state, 
And  reveals  it  unto  one  who 
Queries  for  a  truth  so  great? 
What  mystic  myth  of  primal  day 
Invaded  here  and  willed  that 
Giant  kings  of  vegetation  rule- 
Even  as  Sylvanus  willed  for 
All  the  wild  Lebanon  slope,  or 
Phaeton  scorched  Sahara's  breast — 
And  secreted  his  marvelous 
Work  until  this  later  day? 
What  visions  rose  before  that 
Path-finder  who  looked  first 


*It  is  said  that  the  moss  on  the  trees  in  Oregon 
grows  more  luxuriant  on  the  north  sides  because 
of  the  continual  shade. 


Upon  thy  draped  form,  and  saw 
Thea  elaborately  adorned! 
E'en  so  the  bride  awaits  her  lord; 
When  the  appointed  hour  due 
Civilization  came  and  claimed 
Thee  as  his  own.     Thou  Oregon! 


THE  VAIL  OF  MIST 

A  Timid  Smile  once  went  to  play, 

But  it  was  such  a  misty  day, 

She  first  must  find  the  Vale  of  Joy, 

Where  pleasure  reigns  without  alloy. 

For  Timid  Smile,  how  timid  she. 

Frightened  as  all  children  be, 

At  all  imaginative  wrong, 

And  passes  real  misfortune  on. 

But  how  could  Smile  attempt  to  play 

When  it  was  such  a  cloudy  day, 

Such  denseness  in  that  fog  and  mist, 

Where  could  the  Vale  of  Joy  exist? 

But  seeking  it  she  went  that  day. 

For  Smile  was  young  and  Smile   must 

play, 
As  all  things  that  have  wiliy  ways 


Are  baffled  not  by   cloudy  days. 
She  knew  it  must  be  bright  and  fair, 
She  sought  it  here,  she  sought  it  there, 
And  every  effort  did  employ, 
But  found  it  not,  the  Vale  of  Joy. 
S'la  hurriel  through  thehaathand  hedge, 
O'er  moor  and  hill  and  slope  and  ledge, 
Through  forests  wild,  o'er  rivers  deep, 
And  up  the  mountain's  rugged  steep. 
She  tarried  in  a  murky  lee, 
Tarried  long  and  naught  did  see, 
But  hanging  low  that  vail  of  mist, 
Tarried  longer,  now —  to  wist 
A  face  up  there  in  that  great  tree! 
The  face  of  Father  Time—  ah  he 
Could  tell  her  ail  she  needs  must  know. 
Why  further  seek,  why  further  go? 
Then  stepping  softly  Timid  Smile 
Approached  the  sanctum,  paused  awhile, 
And  fearing  something  knew  not  what, 
His  unshorn  face,  she  feared  that  not, 
Nor  giant  arms—  for  giant  he, 
His  statue  formed  in  that  great  tree- 
Feared  not  the  shadow  casted  down, 
Like  a  sundial  swinging  half  around; 
Feared  not  his  voice  or  seeing  eyes, 
But  feared  the  wisdom  of  the  wise. 


Summoned    courage,  queried  coy, 
"Pray  where  is  the  Vale  of  Joy?" 

No  artifice  with  Father  Time 
Would  cause  his  countenance  to  sfattxe, 
Or  pucker  mons  his  furrowed   brow. 
Or  move  or  condescend  to  bow, 
Not  even  to  that  Timid  Smile, 
Who  longed  to  frisk  in  play  awhile. 
He  cast  a  glance  not  up,  not  down, 
Abated  breath,  in  voice  profound, 
A  breath  unfelt  and  yet  was  heard, 
An  under  breath  his  every  word, 
A  piney  breath  morendo  tone, 
Breath  of  winds  so  lightly  blown, 
Winds  another  age  has  known, 
Known  only  in  that  monotone, 
Winds  that  ra  tripled  not  his  hair, 
Great  coney  knots  entangled  there, 
Nor  bobbed  he  his  mossy  chin, 
A  chin  all  wrinkled  much  and  thin, 
Chin,  so  heavily  bewhiskered 
Moving  not  at  all.  he  whispered, 
Whispered  sweetly,  soft  and  low, 
"Ask  the  fairies  they  know." 

That  Timid  Smile,  how  timid  she, 

5 


Timid  as  all  feminine    be, 
Forgets  timidity  s'    precept 
When  cariosity  doth  intersept. 
Forgot  to  fear,    forgot   reserve, 
From  closer  range  sought  to  observe 
That,  shaggy  fase  unshearad,    unshorn 
By  Father  Time  so  grimly  borne; 
Wavered  not  nor  stood  in  awe 
Of  prestige  or  tradition's   law, 
Piped    a  question,  coyness  lost, 
To  learn  the  truth  so  all  engrossed, 
Earnest,  no  impertinence  shown, 
"Why  are  you  so  overgrown?" 
For  questionairs  at  all  not   prone, 
And  Father  Time  was  never  known 
To  stand  for  quiz,  but  Smile  did  lisp 
Her  question —  she  a  will-p- wisp- 
Forgot  himself,  and  answered  "Mist/' 
Lapsed  into  silence,  Smile  dismissed. 

Then  Timid  Smile  a  seeking  went, 
to  find  the  fairies  all  intent; 
But  never  once  had  she  surmised 
Where  they  lived,  and  was  surprised 
To  find  them  on  the  plot  of  green, 
More  fairies  than  she'd  ever; seen*. 
Right  where  she,  herself  would  play 

6 


If  it  had  been  a  sunny  day. 
Surrounded  all  by  spruce  and  yew, 
Cascadean  peaks  a  peeking    through; 
Fairies,  fives  and  tens  and  twelves, 
Dancing  there  all  by  themselves; 
Dancing  on  mahaia  mats, 
With  whispering  bells  keeping  taps, 
Were  tripping  lightly  all  in  line, 
In  and  through  the  wild  grape  vine; 
(It  must  have  bean  the  grape-vine-twi^t,,)- 
And  not  a  step  or  measure  missed. 
Fairies  dressed  as  fairies  do, 
All  in  their  fancy  eostums,    too, 
And  never  seemed  to  mind  at  all 
If  rain  and  mist  did  on  them  fall. 
It  never  soiled  their  fluffy  things, 
Or  crumpled  up  their  gauzy  wings, 
Wings,  all  made  of   lacy  fern, 
Sprays  lapping  over  all  in  turn, 
And  trimmed  around  with  fuzzy  down, 
Beneath  the  pussy-willows  found. 
On  their  heads  were  all  new  fangled 
Blue  and  red-bell  wreaths  that  bangtett, 
On  satin-bell  skirts  were  sprangles 
Of  honeysuckle  blows  and  spangles; 
Their  bodices  of  sassafras 
Leaves,  laced  up  with  ribbon  grass; 

7 


Was  waving  each  a  cat- tail  wand, 
Brought  them  frorn  the  near  by  pond. 

The  call  for  such  a  festal  day, 
Where  all  the  fairies  came  to  play? 
Came  all  the  fairies  in  the  land 
To  celebrate   a  wedding  grand. 
And  dancing  round  with  all  the  rest 
The  bride  so  beautifully  dressed; 
And  never  blushed  and  never  bowed 
But  mingled  with  the  happy   crowd. 
On  her  head  a  sweet  blue-bonnet, 
With  wild  pansy  blooms  upon  it, 
Syringarueh  around  her  neck, 
No  other  fairy  could  bedeck 
Herself  so  fine,  although  they  tried, 
So  they  let  this  one  be  the  bride. 
She  stood  beneath  the  mistletoe, 
And  all  the  fairies  loved  her  so, 
ATwas  sad  that  they  should   miss  such 

bliss, 

But  no  one  thought  to  steal  a  kiss. 
Th^y  had  no  rice  or  worn  out  shoe, 
So  what  did  those  gay  fairies  do 
But  take  pink,    manzanita   blooms 
To  shower  the  bride.  My,  what  perl umes! 

The  luncheon  spread  for  one  and  all, 

8 


For  all  the  fairies  at  the   ball-- 
Thimble  berries  for  finger  bowls, 
Two  big  dew-drops  each  one  holds, 
Lambs-quarter  and  sweet  wild  cherries, 
Watercress  and  service  berries, 
Buttercups  filled  with  peppermint, 
My,  what  a  minty  scent  that  sent 
Prevading  all  the   atmosphere, 
Its  cells  of  honey  nice  and  clear! 
Grandpa-apples  all  served  up 
To  each  one  in  an  acorn  cup; 
Deer  tongue  sliced  with  mustard  seed, 
And  milk  drawn  from  a  big  milkweed, 
Into  pitcher  plants  strained  and  poured, 
And  dipped  out  with  a  tiny  gourd. 
Hazel  nuts  with  sugary   fill, 
From  the  sugar  pine  on  the  hill; 
And  strawberries  so  nice  and  red, 
.Never  was  such  a  luncheon  spread; 
But  not  one  fairy  stopped  to  dine , 
From  dancing  didn't  take  the  time; 
And  none  was  absent,  no  not  one, 
Except  the  groom,  he  didn't  come, 
(In  fairy-land  there  are  no  boys, 
They  always  put  a.  stop  to  joys,) 
They  missed  him  not,  not  e'en  the  bride, 
Johnny-jump-ups  on  every  side 
Appeared,  and  peered  at  fairies  all, 
9 


At  all  the  fairies  at  the  ball, 
And  if  they  cared  to  they  could  call, 
But  they  were  needed  not  at  all, 
And  all  was  light  and  all  was  gay, 
Although  it  was  a  misty  day. 

Now  wouldn't  such  a  funny  sight 
Put  all  soberness  to  flight, 
And  happiness  would  take*  its  place 
And  shine  and  sheen  on  every  face? 
But  Smile  just  stood  there  quite  amazed, 
As  on  this  pretty  sight  see  gazed, 
And  no  discord  her  presence  caused, 
Till  all  the  lovely  fairies  paused 
Beside  her,  then  she  made  the  query, 
But  not  one  of  them,  so  airy, 
Couid  tell  aught  of  the  Vale  of  Joy 
Where  pleasure  reigns  without  alloy ; 
"We  know  just  for  ourselves,"  said  they, 
44 And  only  know  just  for  to-day." 
Much  abashed  that  Timid  Smile, 
Who  longed  to  frisk  in  play  awhile, 
Loitered  on  the  carpet  green, 
Just  one  other  fact  to  glean, 
The  where  and  why  for  all  that  dress 
And  spread,  and  who  would  ever    guess? 
One  kindly  fairy  whispered  low, 

10 


As  if  she  wanted  none  to  know 
She  told;  and  said  'twould  not  exist 
Were  it  not  for  the  rain  and  mist. 

But  Timid  Smile  could  never  see 
Just  how  all  that  could  ever  be; 
She  lingered  in  a  leafy  dell, 
The  dewy  mist    upon  her  fell, 
Fell  gently,  unperturbed  and  slow, 
If  'twas  not  seen  she  wonld  not  know; 
But  felt  the  power  of  some  one  eyeing, 
Glancing  up  she  saw  one  spying, 
His  form  grotesquely  concealed, 
But  the  tall  hemlock  revealed 
There  Father  Time,  authentic  spy, 
Upon  all  secrets  prone  to  pry; 
She  was  astound   that  he'd  perceive 
Her  quandary,  and  would  relieve. 
But  why  surprised  when  Father  Time, 
Who  works  his  will  in  pantomime, 
When  e're  dire  measures  come  to  view 
Consults  his  annuals,  giving  true 
Solution  to  all  that  would  vex, 
And  clears  all  problems  that  perplex. 
Experience  his  chief  of  aid, 
No  event    lost,  or  records  fade, 
Though  he  has  for  all  ages  rung 
11 


Ths  death  knell,  no  requiem  sung 
Or  pennei  for  him,  but  reigning  on 
With  day  his  scepter,  night  his  wand, 
As  old,  so  old,  still  ever  young, 
His  import  spoken  by  no  tongue; 
Yet  Timid  Smile  as  old  as  he, 
And  Timid  Smile  will  ever  be 
As  young;  no  soberness  is  worn, 
But  great  imagination   borne 
And  flung  afield,    now  would  employ 
His  council  for  the  Vale  of    Joy. 
Again  from  out  the  sanctom  grave, 
Singularly  this  message  gave, 
Gave  it  softly,  sweet  and  low, 
"Ask  the  elfkins,  they  know/' 

The  Smile  then  hastily  did  go 

To  find  the  elves,  but  did  not  know 

Where  they  lived,  'twas  hard  to  find, 

To  give  up,  she  had  half  a  mind. 

So  disappointed  with  her    lot, 

She  lingered  in  a  quiet  grot, 

And  she  would  stay  if  she  but  could. 

Among  the  fragrant  lilac  wood. 

But  it  was  such  a  rnisty  day, 

She  dare  not  stay  or  try  to  play, 

But  cast  about,  and  there  did  see 

12 

, 


The  elves  beneath  an  alder  tree. 
And  such  a  sight,  would  you  believe? 
Wnat  they  were  playing,  if  you  please, 
King  and  CDurt  and  rule  and  law, 
And  not  a  court  one  ever  saw, 
And  not  a  king  one  ever  knew, 
So  how  did  they  know  what  to  do? 
But  know  they  did,  and  would  extol 
Their  knowledge  of  the  rigmarole 
That  goes  with  coronation   day, 
Each  and  every  part  could  say. 
No  greater  scene  could  ever  be 
Than  that  beneath  that  alder  tree. 
The  king  sac  an  a  prickly  pod, 
And  ruled  them  with  a  golden-rod, 
It  was  the  golden  rule,  he  said, 
That  they  might  all  become  well  bred,, 
With  guards  and  heralders  and  dukes 
And  lords,  (but  none  of  them  were  d apes,) 
You  see  the  elves  are  only  boys, 
So  all  the  girls  had  to  be  toys. 
A  black-eyed-Susan  for  the  maid. 
(No  heed  to  orders  ever  paid,) 
March  marigold  to  be  the  page, 
They  found  it  by  the  spicy  sage ; 
The  aid  de  camp,  a  real  elf, 
(Of  most  importance  to  himself,) 
Court  jester  was  no  foolish  clown, 

13 


Bat  just  a  great  big  daff-a-down- 
Ditty,  and  it  did  look   silly, 
Standing  there,  a  yellow   lily, 
Without  a  move,  or  word  to  say, 
And  no  attention  did  it  pay 
To  king  or  court  or  aid  de  camp, 
Indeed,  it  looked  more  like  a  lamp. 
What  do  you  think  they  had  for  queen? 
No  fairer  one  was  ever  seen, 
A  lily  of   the  valley  stood 
Right  in  the  place  a  good  queen  should. 
And  what  a  queen,  and  what  a  brace, 
And  what  a  throne  those  two  did  grace! 
Wild  morning-glories  up  side  down 
Were  worn  for  hats,  except  the  crown, 
And  that  was  just  a  buffalo  bur 
They  found  beside  a  big  red  fir. 
The  weapon  for  each  guard  so   bold, 
How  boastingly  and  proud  to  hold 
Shooting  stars,  and  they  could  shoot 
Arrows  made  of  arrow  root. 
The  trumpeters  could  call  and  chant 
Announcements  through  a  trumpet  plant. 
Their  canopies  were  big  mushrooms 
All  topped  off  with  sorrel  top  plumes; 
Seating  conveniences  were  found, 
Toad-stools  enough  to  go  around; 
But  not  a  single  elf  to  pay 
14 


The  least  he,*]  to  that  rainy  day, 

Not  e'en  the  queen  to  stew  and  fret 

B3cause  har  gown  was  damp  and  wet. 

Bat  each  duke  held  a  parasol, 

An  umbrella  plant  was  all, 

Imagined  that  it  kept  them  dry, 

The  poor-man's  weather-glass  grew  nigh, 

Although  it  called  for  still  more  rain, 

No  melancholy*  on   then  came, 

Now  Timid  Smile,  all  unannounced, 

Came  to  the  king,  and  not  denounced, 

She  pled  her  cause,  but  none  could  bear 

Witness  as  to  when  or  where 

Or  how  she'd  find  the  Vale  of  Joy, 

Where  pleasure  reigns  without  alloy. 

But  said  that  each  and  every  elf 

Had  surely  found  it  for  himself. 

When  questioned    why  the    mushrooms 

grew 

To  over  size,  the  least  elf  drew 
The  Smile  aside,  and  then  dismissed 
Her  with  this  simple  missive  "Mist." 

Now  all  befuddled,  Timid  Smile, 
Who  longed  to  frisk  in  play  awhile, 

*The  presence  of  the  poor  man's  weather-glawi   i§ 
d   to  brinsr  melancholy 

15 


Went  back  to  Father  Time  once  more, 
Found  him  on  Lake  Waldo's  shore; 
Visioned  in  that  stalwart  oak, 
Careful  lest  she  might  provoke 
His  majesty,  but  half  inclined 
To  think  he  was  of  twaddling  mind. 
Twice  now  he  had  sent  her  wrong, 
Yet  imaged  there  so  staunch  and  strong, 
Strong  for  truth  and  strong  for  right, 
For  greatest  mysteries  brought  to  light; 
Doubt  must  flee  before  his  face, 
Still  for  a  moment  held  its  place 
Within  the  heart  of  Timid  Smile, 
Not  to  degrees  that  would  beguile 
Her  to  design  or  skepticize, 
None  such  as  Smile  could  theorize 
Or  realize  Time  had  the  power 
To  limit  her  that  very  hour. 
With  hope  the  ruling  element, 
Pursued  the  quest  with  good  intent; 
No  artifice  did  she  .employ, 
"Pray  where  is  the  Vale  of  Joy?" 
Hark!    Was  he  chuckling?  ,  Nay,  ah  nay! 
'Twas  just  a, branch  that  chance^ ,to  sway, 
Swaying  gently,  and  a  fluttering 
Of  leaves  in  faintest  muttering,; 
Muttering  softly,  sweet  and  low, 
" Ask  the  witches,  they  know 
16 


Again  th?  Smile  was  put  to  test, 
To  weigh  desire  and  interest 
'Gainst  failure  and  uncertainty, 
And  asertain  integrity. 
While  lingering  upon  the  hill, 
On  Pinhead   hill,  so  steep  and  still. 
She  came  upon  the  witches   three, 
And  pausing    there  what  did  she  see? 
Witches  all  dressed  up  so  grand, 
Like  witches  of  no  other  land, 
And  riding  too,  and  did  not  stay 
Because  it  was  a  misty  day. 
Cared  not  if  ferbelows  were  spoiled, 
Just  so  their  pleasure  was  not  foiled; 
And  ne'er  did  witches  act  like  they, 
So  frivolous  and  light  and  gay. 
Powdered  up  their  hooked  noses 
With  pollen  from  the  pink  wild  roses. 
Their  petticoats  were  all  befrilled 
With  redbuds  that  some  bush  had  spilled, 
(Because  the  witches  love  them  so* 
The  redbuds  cling  to  them  you   know,) 
And  buttoned  on  with  great  buff  balls, 
Patched  up  water  leaves  for  shawls, 
The  pinking  iron  had  been  around, 

*A.**)rdinj;  to  tradition  the  redbud,  sometimes 
called  Judas  trees,  are  the  favorite  rendezvous  for 
witches. 

17 


And  every  scallop  it  had  found, 
And  seamed  so  neatly  at  each  gore 
No  one  could  tell,  and  each  one  wore 
A  dogwood   blossom  for  a  hat, 
What  headgear  could  compair  with  that? 
Beau  catchers  too,  (but  goodness  knows 
Witches  never  do  have  beaux,) 
Forget-  me-nots  and  tulips,  too, 
In  button  holes  a  sticking  through; 
And  laurel  leaves,  as  if  to  say 
They'd  won  the  honors  of  the  day. 
Holding,  as  their  trade  requires 
Scepters  made  of  gooseberrie   briers, 
And  crooked  too,  but  goosie  folks 
Like  witches  do  not  care  for  jokes, 
Therefore  they  never  once  did  guess 
How  out  of  line  was  all  their  dress. 
As  witch  or  fairy,  one  must  be 
In  keeping  with  the  place,  you  see. 
Steeds,  bless  you  were  not  merely  brooms, 
But  gigantic  snow  plant  blooms; 
As  crimson  as  the  crimsonest, 
And  against  those  stirrups  pressed 
Lady-slippers,  what  did  inspire 
Those  witches  to  such  gay  attire, 
And  gave  them  mounts  that  they   might 

go 

Way  up  where  lies  the  summer  snow? 

18 


Straight  for  Mount  Hood's   hooded  head, 
Was  aiming  there,  and  on  they  sped, 
But  never  moved  a  peg,  not  they, 
Just  mind  it  was  that  sped  away. 
And  all  was  song  and  all  was  gay, 
Regardless  of  that  misty  day. 

Seems  this  great  sight  would  then  beguile 
That  Timid  Smile  to  smile  a  smile. 
She  once  again  forgot  the  quest, 
By  their  garbs  so  all  impressed; 
She  watched  those  witches  at  their  play, 
And  wondered  what  on  earth  to  say, 
Ventured  near  and  voiced  her  need, 
The  witches  gave  her  little  heed, 
But  if  they  knew  they'd  surely  tell, 
"For,"  they  said    "You  know  quite  well 
We  never  keep  good  secrets  long, 
And  never  tell  a  thing  that's  wrong/' 
But  Smile  still  lingered  on  the  hill, 
Lingered  there  a  moment  till 
She  ask  the  witch  that  was  in  charge, 
What  made  the  snow  plant  grow  so  large. 
The  witch,  so  very  sober  now, 
A  serious  look  upon  her  brow, 
She  gave  her  face  a  funny  twist, 
And  leaning  near  she  whispered    "Mist," 
19 


Then  urged  her  steed  and  leaped  a  mile 
She  thought,  and  left  the  Timid  Smile. 

Now  that  was  such  a  sad  mistake 
For  one  like  Father  Time  to  make, 
Sending  Smile  to  witch  and  elf, 
He  ought  to  know  the  truth  himself. 
She  parlied   near  a  crooked  crook, 
A  crooked  crook  of  Tillamook, 
Again  she  sought  the  sanctom  old, 
Now  trying  to  appear  so  bold; 
Viewed  him  in  that  lengthly  column 
Of  myrtle  wood,  it  stood  so  solemn, 
So  solemn  and  with  dignity, 
That  does  behest  one  such  as  he; 
Viewed  and  saw  imprinted  there 
The  woe  and  grief  and  blank  despair 
Of  ages  that  the  world  has  known, 
And  joy  and  peace  and  love  that's  flown 
Afar,  and  scattered  the  sublime; 
Stamped  on  the  brow  of  Father  Time. 
Virtues  and  vice,  since  morning  prime, 
Stamped  on  the  brow  of  Father  Time. 
More  softly  now,  she  might  annoy, 
"Pray  where  is  the  Vale  of  Joy?" 
Again,that  whisper,  sweet  and  low, 
1  'Ask  the  pigmies,  they  know." 
20 


Then  Timid  Smile  went  wandering, 
While  wandering  was  pondering, 
Pondering  what  she'd  seen  that  day, 
Wondering  if  her  quest  would  pay. 
As  it  was  she  chanced  to   be 
In  Pleasant  Valley  by  the  sea, 
And  just  as  she  would  turn  aside 
A  groop  of  happy  folks  she  spied. 
Pigmies  all  down  in  the  glade, 
Gathered  there  to  play  old  maid, 
And  not  a  maiden  there,  not  one, 
(I'm  very  sure  they  wanted  none.) 
Instead  they'd  gathered  wild  sweet  peas, 
And  grooped  them  up  in  twos  and  threes, 
And  each  one  chose  his  own  bouquet, 
Now  wasn't  that  a  funny  way 
To  play  old  maid?    0,  dear  me, 
They  sang  the  Ranzy  Tanzy  Tee! 
And  left  no  flower  to  wilt  and  fade 
And  pine  away  as  the  old  maid- 
Each  one  thought  he  had  a  daisy, 
(Pigmies'  minds  are  always  hazy,) 
Each  one  felt  himself  a  dandy, 
And,  because  they  grew  so  handy, 
Wore  two  big  dandelions  for  show, 
But  not  a  puff  of  wind  to  blow 
Away  a  dandies'  empty  head, 
But   a   heavy    fog  instead 
21 


Settled  down,  and  than  began  to 
Fall  a  gentle  rain,  but  then  who 
Cared?    For  although  they  wara  dressed 
All  up  in  their  Sunday  best, 
A  little  rain  would  harm  them  none, 
And  only  make  for  greater  fun; 
'Twould  brighten  up  their  dusty  clothes, 
And  make  them  handsomer  as  beaux 
Sweethearts  to  those  sweet  bouquets; 
Of  three  sweet-peas  in  sweet  nosegays-. 
Wearing  fox-gloves  on  their  scrawny 
Hands,  and  rogue  on  faces  tawny, 
(Rogue,  you  know,  was  all  the  vogue, 
They  found  it  by  the  river  Rogue, 
But  never  could  a  river  be 
As  roguish  as  a  pig-o-me!) 
Leopard   plant  for  waistcoats  neat, 
Those  dappled  leaves  could  not  be  beat 
For  coats,  but  vests  they  did  not  need, 
Neckties,  each  a  wapoto  reed, 
Cadar  burs  to  hold  them   'round, 
What  better  tie  clasp  could  ba  found? 
To  wear  a  hat  each  did  refuse, 
Good  gracious,  they  forgot  their  shoes ! 
But  they  were  such  a  happy  lot, 
No  difference  what  they  had  forgot, 
Nothing  could  put  a  bun  or  faze 
Or  curb  upon  their  j oval  ways. 

22 


Two  big  buckeyes  watched  up   there 
From  branch  to  333  the  gama  played  fair, 
But  not  a  one  would  think  to  cheat, 
Or  care  a  speck  if  he  got  beat. 
To  interupt  it  seemed  a  shame, 
But  in  this  case  no  one  could  blame 
Timid  Smile,  for  diligently 
She'd  followed  up  the  quest,  you  see, 
And  diligence  and  heedfulness 
Eventually  will  meet  success; 
Therefore  she  summoned  courage  new, 
Proceeded  then  to  interview 
The  pigmies  on  the  theme  at  heart, 
But  not  a  quay  could  they  impart. 
Contented  all  in  their  own  way, 
And  minded  not  that  misty  day. 
When  quized  about  those  big  buckeyes, 
What  made  them  so  immense  in  size, 
Firmly  those  pigmies  did  insist 
The  secret  of  it  lay  in  mist. 

Back  to  Father  Time  she  hurried, 
Doubtful  now  and  somewhat  worried , 
Lest  that  bard  be  mocking   her, 
His  presence  in  that  douglas  fir. 
So  gloomy  was  his  form,  and  dark, 
His  grimy  face  in  that  black  bark, 

23 


Doubted  if  he  really  knew 
Just  who  it  was  could  tell  her  true; 
With  all  his  wise  judicious  looks, 
No  great  amount  of  wisdom  brooks; 
Regardless  of  his  gift  of  years. 
And  his  high  place  among  the  peers, 
The  honor  dignity  and  fame 
Characterizing  his  great  name, 
Experience  and  prestige  too, 
To  back  his  word,  and  prove  he  knew, 
Yet,  withal  he'd  sadly  blundered, 
And  the  Timid  Smile  now  wondered, 
Wondered  if  he  was  always  just 
To  the  children  of  his  trust; 
Worthy  of  exalted  praise 
That  the  world  so  proudly  gave, 
And  Timid  Smile  among  the  great 
To  stand  in  awe  of  his  high  state, 
Now  sought  him  that  he  might  convoy 
The  quest  to  find  the  Vale  of  Joy. 
Time  once  again  unconsciously, 
Gave  her  a  clew,  so  thoughtlessly, 
Gave  it  softly,  sweet  and  low, 
"Ask  the  brownies,  they  know." 

On  the  banks  of  Tumalo  creek, 
Diligently  the  Smile  did  seek, 
24 


And  found  one  brownie  all  alone, 
Down  in  a  glade  so  overgrown. 
So  overgrown  with  night  shades   blue, 
And  poison  oak  and  thistles  too, 
Wild  parsnip  plants  and  cancer  roots, 
Stagger  brash  and  rattlesnake  shoots; 
So  overgrown  with  great  smart  weeds, 
With  wahoo  brush  and  loco  seeds. 
Withal  'twould  be  a  pretty  pass 
If  brownie  fell  among  that  mass 
Of  harmful  things,  but  fell  he  not 
Their  harmful   natures  he  forgot, 
For  he  was  riding  like  the  wind, 
And  never  stopped  or  seemed  to  mind, 
About  unpleasant  things,  or  thought 
Himself  alone,  or  trouble  bought. 
But  on  he  went,  and  such  a  steed, 
It  was  a  tiger  lily  reed 
Bended  down  and  he  had  climbed 
Upon  it  and  when  there  did  find 
Such  a  horse  as  ne'er  before 
A  brownie  had  to  travel  o'er 
Heath  and  hedge  and  bramble  brier, 
He  proved  himself  a  galant  flier. 
No  saddle  nor  a  reign  to  grip, 
No  curbing  bit  or  lashing   whip, 
But  larkspurs  on  his  pointed  heels, 
(You  know  a  lily  never  feels) 
25 


Bat  brownie  never  tried  to  goad 
His  steed  along  that  pleasant  road, 
The  road  that  flatters  and  decoys, 
And  leads  to  superficial  joys. 
He  thought  he  was  a  knight  of  old, 
And  making  for  the  great  stronghold, 
Yonder  in  that  tamarack  grove 
A  rendezvous  where  robbers  clove ; 
And  ne'er  a  brownie  rode  like  that, 
A  feather  grass  scuck  in  his  hat, 
And  'twas  a  feather  in  his  cap 
That  he  cama  through  with  no  mishap. 
Now  Timid  Smile  had  witnessed  much, 
Seemed  inevitable  that  such 
Happy  scenes  would  give  the  clew, 
And  she  would  know  just  what  to   do. 
But  truth  and  light  cannot  exist 
When  shadowed  by  a  "Vail   of  Mist/' 
More  timid  now,  this  Timid  Smile, 
Who  longed  to  frisk  in  play  a  while, 
Asked  the  brownie  if  he'd  mind 
To  tell  where  she'd  be  apt  to  find 
The  secret  of  the  Vale  of  Joy, 
Where  pleasure  reigns  without  alloy. 
"The  Vale  of  Joy  that  is  for  you?  " 
I  know  not  where,  I  tell  you  true, 
Such  knowledge  I  cannot  impart, 
My  Vale  of  Joy  lies  in  my  heart." 

26 


But  Smile  forgot  the  quest  in  trend, 

And  saw  that  tiger  lily  bend 
And  break  not  under  weight  oppressed, 
The  secret  of  its  strength  not  guessed, 
But  asked  the  why  for  its  great  size, 
The  brownie,  very  much  surprised, 
He  motioned  Smile  to  bend  and  list, 
While  he  sDftly  whispered  "Mist." 
Then  hastened  on  with  greater  speed, 
And  gave  no  thought  or  further  heed 
To  Timid  Snile  there  by  his  side; 
He  thought  he  traveled  far  and  wide, 
But  never  moved  from  out  his  track, 
The  lily  bending  forward,  back, 
How  happy  did  that  brownie  feel, 
To  him  it  was  a  tiger  real; 
In  those  leaps  and  bounds  and  springs, 
Declared  it  beat  Pagasus'  wings. 


'Twas  such  a  mystifying  thing 
How  mist  could  cause  to  be  or  bring 
All  that  wonderous  over  growth, 
Quickly  Smile  forgot  them  both, 
Both  brownie  and  the  lily  too, 
A  weary  way  she  did  pursue, 
Back  to  Father  Time  she  went, 
On  the  quest  still  so  intent, 
27 


Intent  to  find  the  Vale  of  Joy, 
Where  pleasure  reigns  without  alloy, 
Now  Father  Time   said  not  a  word, 
Appeared  as  if  he  never  heard; 
So  still  and  tall  and  gaunt  and  grim, 
Pictured  in  the  trunk  and  limb 
Of  a  dead  pine,  and  ne'er  was  known 
A  dead  pine  to  as  much  as  moan. 
Dead  and  rigid,    stiff  and  cold, 
(The  end  of  everything  we're  told,) 
All  fell  away  his  hair  and  beard, 
Much  more  the  Timid  Smile  now  feared 
Lest  'twas  a  ghost  of  long  ago 
To  haunt  and  reprimand  her,  so 
She  turned  and  mid  a  denser  haze 
A  familiar  sight  met  her  gaze. 
A  sight  as  old  as  Father  Time, 
So  common  too,  but  most  sublime. 
Tis  common  things  that  are    sublime, 
And  in  the  common  things  we  find 
The  seat  of  all  our  happiness, 
And  the  soul  of  what  will  bless; 
F0r  common  things  are  shared  by  all. 
And  in  the  sharing  blessings  fall 
Anew  to  all  who  are  concerned, 
Shared  in  part,   ten  fold  returned. 


A  robin  came  and  sat  to  preen 
His  feathers,  when  the  Smile  had  seen 
Him  perched  upon  the  nettle  bough, 
And  was  not  nettled—  tell  me  how 
Anything  would  dare  to  settle 
On  the  needles  of  the  nettle- 
Robin  perched  and  never  seemed 
To  mind,  and  in  his  presence  gleamed, 
Gleamed  the  theory  and  the  theme, 
The  robin  ever  prone  to  queme. 
Then  Timid  Smile,  aweary  now, 
Approached  the  needle  nettle  bough. 
"0  robin,  you  have  traveled  through 
This  great  land,  I  beg  of  you 
To  tell  me  of  the  Vale  of  Joy, 
Where  pleasure  reigns  without  alloy. 
For  I  am  Smile,  I  want  to  play, 
But  this  is  such  a  misty  day, 
How  can  a  Smile  e'er  dare  to  stay, 
Where  all  the  land  is  dreary,  gray? 
I  asked  of  Father  Time  to  tell, 
I  thought  he'd  surely  know  so  well, 
But  never  knew  it,  no,  not  he, 
But  told  me  other  folks  to  see. 
I  asked  the  fairies  and  the  elves, 
They  only  knew  just  for  themselves, 
The  witches  and  the  pigmies  too, 
And  brownie,  seemed  that  no  one  knew, 


But  they  it  was  who  Father  Time 
Told  me  was  versed  along  that  line." 
The  robin  perching  on  that  bough, 
Perched  and  listened,  listened  how 
That  Timid  Smile  had  sought  to  find 
The  Vale  of  Joy,  and  nane  was  kind 
Enough  to  tell  her  when  and  where 
She,  herself  might  enter  there. 
Listened,  heeded,  barkened  well, 
And  then  the  truth  to  her  would  tell. 


"Ho!     Father  Time  is  such  a  sage, 
Has  no  conception  of  the  age; 
Sending  you  to  fairy  folks, 
Why  elves  and  such  are  only  jokes! 
A  wonder  that  he  did  not  say 
Lubentia  or  such  as  they 
That  lived  way  back  in  mythic  times 
When  every  one  had  mythy  minds. 
For  imaginary  things  like  they 
On  their  own  imaginations  play, 
Know  not  che  trouble  that  provokes 
The  lives  and  minds  of  other  folks. 
'Tis  so  if  one  cannot  impart 
The  joy  that  lies  in  his  own   heart 
To  others,  then  a  myth  is  he, 
And  only  mythy  things  will  see, 
30 


Hark!    This  is  not  a  my  thy  age, 

But  an  age  when  truth  must  wage 

And  wedge  its  precepts  into  mind. 

That  all  the  world  might  know  its   kind. 

Now  verily     I  tell  you  this, 

The  Vale  of  Joy  is  not  a   myth, 

But  genuine,   and  it  is  real, 

And  not  a  place,  but  what  you  feel; 

In  everything  it  is  revealed, 

On  every  face  its  stamp  is  sealed 

And  every  grace  it  doe^  employ, 

Behold  it  now,  the  Vale  of  Joy!" 

Then  robin  when  his  story  told. 

Lo!  afar  the  mist  had  rolled, 

And  splendor  draped  the  earth  and  skies, 

The  Smile  stood  there  with  opened  eyes. 

How  could  she  then  help  but  play 

When  it  was  such  a  lovely  day? 

O'er  yonder  hill  appeared  the  bow, 

In  yonder  field  the  sun  aglow; 

In  every  tree  and  shrub  and  flower, 

In  every  nook  and  leafy  bower, 

Visions  of  that  Vale  of  Joy, 

Where  pleasure  reigns  without  alloy; 

And  fresh  and  bright  and  fair —  to  wist, 

What  made  it  so?    THE  VAIL  OF  MIST. 

31 


Oaylord  Bros. 

Makers 

Syracuse,  N.  Y.     | 
PAT.  JAN.  21 ,1808       | 

I 


2027 

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